Scandalous

A sermon preached with the people of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Oakland, California, based on the lections from A Women’s Lectionary for the Whole Church: Year C.

So here is Jesus, at a dinner party of sorts, hosted by a member of the religious elite. And things are going as you would expect; polite and pleasant; probably some passed hors d’oevres; certainly no talk of politics. Nothing challenging or provocative.  

And then something happens, suddenly, we’re told: A woman walks through the door.

She is unbounded, unfiltered, unrestricted, and uninvited. She brings her salty tears and her fragrant oil. She brings her hands, her hair, and her lips.

She brings her whole woman’s body.

She brings love.

And Jesus accepts that love; breathes in its scent, lets his skin absorb it.

And our host cannot believe it. “This Jesus is no prophet,” he says. “Look how he allows himself to be touched by this scandal.”

And Jesus, our great and patient teacher, says to him, let me tell you a story: Two people are in debt. One owes more than they’d make in a year. The other, about what they’d make in a month. The lender cancels both debts. And Jesus asks, which person would love the lender more. And our host answers, correctly, the one who owed more.

This woman walked through that door with her whole, real self. She walked through that door with everything she owed. With her debts. Or, you may call them, sins. The evil she has done, the evil done on her behalf. The things done and left undone. Examined, understood, and acknowledged.  

And that self-understanding allowed her to walk through that door, lay those burdens down and, in Jesus’ words, live as a “deeply loving” human being. Deeply loving.

This is gospel love.

And it. is. scandalous.

It is not incidental that in this story gospel love comes in the form of a woman’s body; women’s bodies themselves a scandal at the heart of the enduring project of patriarchy that has woven its way through the history of God and God’s people.

People of all genders have been caught inside this great problem we cannot seem to solve; this problem of the scandal of a woman’s body. How to control it, and to keep it, and to cover it.

In our reading from the Book of Numbers, we heard the people of God working on this problem; working to institute a whole judicial process whereby a woman is given a chance —a chance — to prove that what she says and knows about her own body is true. During this process, the priest shall “unbind the hair of the woman” suspected of adultery. This act of shame as documented here influences Jewish and Christian tradition regarding women’s hair and head coverings to this day[i], and was certainly important to those gathered that day with Jesus.

And yet this unnamed woman with her alabaster jar, unbinds her own hair without shame; and uses it to dry Jesus’ feet.

Scandalous.

Jesus tells his host, you were too polite, too proper, too safe to show any kind of real hospitality or care. But here is what gospel love looks like.

The reason that gospel love looks scandalous, is because it springs from the hope of God’s coming reign. Not from the cynicism and despair we’re trained to embrace.

This message. This truth. This life. This gospel.  It will be seen as scandal because it is scandal.

Because each act of true gospel love reveals that every power marker of this world — whether it be wealth, fame, or political influence or office — is temporal. Will be brought down.

And every single human being — every body — that has been named, treated, and legislated as scandalous — already holds the kind of power that will last, forever and ever.

God’s reign is free from each system of oppression humanity has managed to come up with: Misogyny, racism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, ableism, and on and on.

In God’s reign, undaunted love expressed by and for women’s bodies — and yes, that includes trans women’s bodies — and Black bodies, and brown bodies, and LGTBTQ+ bodies, and undocumented bodies, and disabled bodies —isn’t scandalous.

It is God’s image in action. In all of its diversity. Its equity. And its inclusion. It is God’s love, embodied.

Three weeks ago Bishop Mariann Budde of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington preached a plea for mercy for immigrants and LGBTQ+ people; for children who are frightened. It was a simple message, really. A message of gospel love.

And it. was. scandalous.

This week, Episcopalians celebrated the brand new feast day marking the ordination of Bishop Barbara Clementine Harris, first woman bishop in the worldwide Anglican Communion. And indeed, first Black woman bishop. This was in 1989. A Black woman. A divorced woman. A civil rights activist. And when public outcry turned to threats of violence, Harris was offered a bulletproof vest to wear during her ordination. She declined, later writing that she figured “if some fool was crazy enough to shoot me, there was no better place to go than at the altar of God ..”[ii] Harris went on to “shape a generation of leaders” in the church. “I certainly don’t want to be one of the boys,” she said. “I want to offer my peculiar gifts as a black woman . . . a sensitivity and an awareness that comes out of more than a passing acquaintance with oppression.”

This is gospel love. And it is scandalous.

I know that in recent days, the preponderance of people naming basic concern, care, and love for suffering and marginalized people as scandalous, or foolish, or wrong have provoked feelings of surprise, despair, anger, and fear in many of you. They certainly have for me.

Today, I pray that when we are confronted with those responses, we might find strength in remembering and owning that yes indeed, gospel love was and is and will be scandalous.

As scandalous as a command to love our neighbor as ourselves.

As scandalous as a woman’s body, caring for God-made-human, with tears and with touch, even and especially in all her indebtedness, all her sin.

As scandalous as our God’s broken body, exposed and hanging on a cross.

Scandal is at the heart of who we are, or who we strive to be, anyway: a community of imperfect human beings who seek to “love deeply.” A people who follow in the footsteps of an unnamed woman, who once crashed a dinner party with scandalous, gospel love.

[i] Leila L Bronner, “From Veil to Wig: Jewish Women’s Hair Covering,” Judaism 42, no. 4 (September 1993): 469.

[ii] Hallelujah, Anyhow! A Memoir by Barbara C. Harris with Kelly Brown Douglas, pg. 99.